


Cold War and a Nuclear Weapon

by highboys (orphan_account)



Series: Domestic verse [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Dog(s), Future Fic, M/M, Pets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takao loves Shin-chan most. No, not that Shin-chan. The other one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
Three years of cohabitation without managing to end up in the evening news and in jail for attempted manslaughter, Takao brought home a dog.  
  
Midorima stood in the doorway, considering the possibility that the neighborhood watch committee would happen upon a very messy breakup, or the biggest drama the apartment had ever witnessed after Midorima's board exams. Across from him, Takao's coat wiggled; tiny, fluffy ears poked out of his collar.  
  
"No," said Midorima. He'd put a valiant effort into barricading the entrance more than once, in the face of irritating salespersons and Kise. The first few months after moving in, he'd complained about the height of the door. Now he was grateful for small mercies, like being able to block the only available entrance barring the windows to an apartment on the eighth floor whenever Takao did something completely idiotic and unnecessary (which, truthfully, seemed to happen a lot when he was left to his own devices). "You are not setting foot in the apartment with that thing in your hands."  
  
"But it's so cute," Takao protested, like that would nullify any and all cause for rejection. He slowly extracted the squirming pup from the hazard that was his coat, and brought it up to face level so the puppy's scrunched up nose touched his cheek.  
  
"It's a dog," said Midorima, "and it likely doesn't have its shots. Take it back."  
  
"I can't," said Takao. A small slip of tongue poked out of the dog's mouth to lick at the edge of his cheek. A health hazard, both of them. "My coworker needed a favor and I still owe him!"  
  
"That's disgusting," said Midorima, watching as the dog moved closer to invade Takao's nose, and the corner of his mouth. "You are not kissing me ever again."  
  
"Hahaha, you're such a kidder," said Takao.  
  
"I'm not joking," said Midorima. He considered how expensive it would be to change the nameplate. If it was worth it. Then he took a look at the dog and made a note to make inquiries soon. "Is it trying to  _attack_  your fingers?"  
  
"Of course not," said Takao, wounded that Midorima would impugn his charge. "He's just teething. Aren't you, Shin-chan?"  
  
"You named it after me," said Midorima, horrified at the escalating situation. He felt a migraine coming. "You named the dog from hell after  _me_."  
  
"Look at the bright side," said Takao, cheerfully. "Kagami  _hates_  dogs, right?"  
  
"I'm beginning to understand why he does," said Midorima.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The honeymoon period lasted for approximately an hour. After ruining the sofa and turning Midorima's med books into a bathroom, Takao was already reconsidering returning the dog.  
  
"You brought it home," said Midorima. "I am  _not_  cleaning up after it."  
  
"I hate you," Takao moaned piteously, crumpling the soiled newspaper in his gloved hands. He'd had to cover the entire living room with newspapers after it became apparent that he couldn't leave the defenseless puppy alone in the balcony to freeze, even for just five minutes of potty training. "Who hurt you when you were a kid?"  
  
"You could always take it back," said Midorima, eyeing the animal now curled up in its makeshift bed out of Takao's old clothes, or what remained of it. It had tired itself out shredding the fabric like it had done to Takao's jacket as soon as Takao had set it down on the sofa. At least Takao learned his lesson. Midorima couldn't say the same thing about his earphones, though.  
  
"I can't," Takao wailed, "every time I look at it, it reminds me of you and that would be like  _abandoning you_ , do you understand this feeling?"  
  
"My personality is not that detestable," said Midorima, defensively. It was a reflex, by now.  
  
Takao stared at him -- the same way he did whenever Midorima said something that reflected a distinct lack of self-awareness and social aptitude, which was fairly often -- before shaking his head and dumping the newspaper into the trash. Takao was kind of an asshole on occasion. "That's the problem, isn't it," said Takao. " _I am a poor judge of character_. Also a masochist. I think."  
  
The dog kicked, in its sleep. It rolled over with its stomach in the air, pink where the white fur ended. Its tail went  _thump thump_  against the floor, pleased.  
  
"I'm sorry," said Takao, his fingers poised mid-air as he struggled to stay still, "you're so cute, I take everything back."  
  
"Why do I live with you," said Midorima, to the ceiling. He asked himself this every day.  
  
"Because you love me," said Takao, "and because no one would be sane enough to stay in the same space as you without strangling you."  
  
 _You'd be surprised_ , thought Midorima, as he remembered brief fantasies of maiming Takao whenever sex while mutually frustrated with each other wasn't a good enough distraction. Instead, he said, "Don't be foolish."  
  
"Your mother is a  _saint_ ," said Takao emphatically, while wiping down the floor with a rag. He never understood how Midorima's mother bore a son with an obsessive compulsive disorder that pinged every time someone brought up the DSM V, among a few other things. Then again, if Takao were a little more heterosexual and a little less invested in his relationship with Midorima, he would have gone after Midorima's mother, no joke. Midorima still thought of this as creepy and proceeded to ban Takao from home dinners and holiday visits to his parents' -- not that that stopped Takao from calling to listen to adorable baby stories. She sent pictures the following day, and now a disgruntled Shintarou clad in Doraemon pajamas was framed on the mantle.  
  
"Let's not talk about my mother," said Midorima. He rubbed at his forehead to stall an incoming headache, yet again. "It's too late in the evening for this argument."  
  
"Yes, let's," said Takao, looking at Midorima's fingers, bony and slim, with glazed eyes.  
  
"You're not even listening to me," said Midorima, exhaling loudly. "This is part of the reason why I think this is a really bad idea."  
  
"Pfft," said Takao. "If I could handle you, who's to say I can't take care of a dog?"  
  
Midorima could think of so many things wrong with that statement, but he chose discretion and went off to take a much needed shower, even if he barely lifted a finger to help with cleaning up. He was confident Takao couldn't last.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He was wrong.  
  
After a month, the dog was still there, and was still subjected to Takao's moments of dumbness every time Takao so much as  _looked_  at the dog. Midorima didn't call the dog by its name, but Takao made up for Midorima's neglect by cooing 'Shin-chan' this and 'Shin-chan' that until the dog stopped chasing its own tail and started snapping at his nose.  
  
The disgruntled pomsky (as Takao had insisted on calling it -- how or why Midorima needed to know the difference between breeds, he had no idea. He was a doctor for  _people_ , for god's sake) seemed to look at Takao a lot, mostly with a mix of confusion and genuine irritation. Grudgingly, Midorima acceded that the dog achieved better results with this than Midorima's judgmental expressions ever could, but a dog that was insufferable could make Takao cave in to Midorima's not-so-subtle hints to take the dog for a walk and abandon him in Kagami's apartment, right?  
  
He was wrong, again. This was probably karma. Divine retribution for all the times Takao wanted to hit him but didn't. Midorima  _hated_  being wrong about a lot of things.  
  
"Isn't he growing on you," said Takao, as he extracted the puppy from chewing on the wooden floor of the entryway.  
  
"No," said Midorima.  
  
"I was talking to Shin-chan," said Takao.  
  
 _Hate_.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Of all the times the dog chose to exhibit its less than desirable qualities, the first night was the worst, though. The dog kept whimpering and howling from its spot in the living room, and Takao had to remind himself aloud that this was perfectly natural and a good trainer didn't coddle his dogs. Then he realized he didn't want to be a trainer, he wanted to be the  _favorite_ , and started to slink out of bed and out of the room. Midorima always caught him by the garter of his boxer shorts before he made it past the hallway.  
  
"No," said Midorima every time, and Takao looked at him like killing puppies and kittens was his chosen past time. Clearly, anyone more merciful would let him alleviate the suffering of a poor dog, if only for his personal peace of mind.  
  
"Why not," said Takao. "Why won't you let him sleep in bed with us?"  
  
"We are not letting a dog take over our bed," said Midorima, scandalized. " _We do things in bed_."  
  
"It'll be a shared experience," said Takao. "A puppy needs to feel warmth and affection and I don't think Shin-chan's getting that from his namesake!"  
  
"His namesake is tempted to set him on fire if he doesn't quiet down," said Midorima, thinking of how the neighbors had called no less than five times and how suddenly all the children on the same floor wanted to come over and play with the puppy. Midorima had no luck.  
  
"You're the worst," Takao muttered, and went limp in Midorima's fingers after Midorima pinched the back of his neck a little too forcefully.  
  
"I know," said Midorima, and resolved to soundproof the apartment before the week was up.  
  
By five AM everyone in the apartment was cranky and irritable. Considering that this was part of Midorima's default mode, his temper was worse than usual after the puppy woke him up by scratching and crying outside their door. The  _wooden_  door. With its very sharp claws. Takao began to make distressed noises into his pillow. Midorima might have done the same too, for entirely different reasons.  
  
"That's it," said Midorima, turning to face Takao after yet another ten minutes of sleep interrupted by an extremely disconsolate dog, "we're breaking up."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After the first night, everyday seemed like smooth sailing in comparison. Midorima swore off any involvement in the care and feeding of Takao's pet bar refilling his bowl and indulgently letting the pup into Takao's laundry basket, but he drew a line when it came to everything else.  
  
Except training, though. Midorima loved training sessions.  
  
"No," said Midorima, as the dog lifted a paw to bat at his leather shoes. He picked the puppy up by the scruff of its neck and stared down at it. "Don't touch my things."  
  
The dog listened to him, at least, and took out its frustrations on Takao's shoes -- or so Midorima deduced from Takao's outraged yelling ten minutes later.  
  
"Teething is a perfectly natural stage," said Midorima, dryly, as Takao swooped into the kitchen intent on finding the fur balled menace. "I've heard it's a very difficult one, for the owner."  
  
"Don't even start," Takao snarled out. " _Your dog_  chewed on my new jacket."  
  
"Oh, is it my dog when it acts like a ruffian?"  
  
"Shut up," said Takao, even as Midorima couldn't resist saying, "and it's your dog, actually."  
  
"I bet you told him to do it anyway," said Takao, bending down to check under the tiny gap between the floor and the oven. "You hate that jacket, don't think I didn't see you eyeing it when I bought it. Come out, you little twerp!"  
  
Midorima let Takao ransack the kitchen and swear like a sailor, sipping serenely on his morning coffee and swallowing spoonfuls of cornflakes without offering to help hunt down the dog, despite their mutual enmity. After five minutes of mutual staring, he figured Takao would be back to being gaga over the puppy -- at least, until it gnawed on tissue paper again. Midorima didn't understand it at all.  
  
"It was a passable attempt," he said, sniffing at the puppy and throwing the jacket in the trash. Then he gave Shin-chan a treat, and hoped Takao would never realize who exactly put his clothes on the floor, within Shin-chan's reach.  
  
Midorima never said he wasn't passive aggressive. The dog seemed to share that much with him, at least.  
  
"Good dog," said Midorima, as an afterthought, and fed it another treat.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

By month five the teething seemed to taper off, but only a little. The hardwood floor in the genkan was a lost cause, but it did wonders for Takao's discipline. He rarely left anything tempting within reach.

Shin-chan took out its pent-up frustrations on the tennis ball Takao brought home for him; they kept a case of spares in the drawer for fear that not even the ball would be impervious to Shin-chan's teeth. Takao kept cooing and taking videos of Shin-chan stretching over the ball, barely covering its width with his size, his paws sinking its claws into the surface. Midorima privately thought Shin-chan was psychotic. Half of 2chan seemed to think otherwise.

The dog wasn't completely useless outside of destroying Takao's personal property; the walking, barking, pooping machine was well-versed with crushing Takao's heart and his body parts at the same time. It turned up its nose at Takao's kisses and his belly rubs, staying perfectly still as Takao nuzzled against its stomach and made smacking noises that caused its ears to prick up in attention. After a while, though, it seemed to give in to Takao's embarrassing displays of affection and licked at his fingers for more. Two minutes after, it would skulk off into the gap under the sofa, dozing and ignoring Takao until its next meal.

"I think Shin-chan hates me," said Takao, apropos of nothing.

Midorima's fingers stilled on the counter, the rag he was holding crushed in his fist -- an impulse he's never gotten rid of even after years of knowing Takao in all the wrong ways.

"Yes," said Midorima, dryly, "I'm happy you've acknowledged this after more than a decade."

"I wasn't talking about _you_ ," said Takao, smiling with as much contempt as he could muster, or at least Midorima likened it to that. Takao kept saying that it was Midorima that needed to get his social skills ironed out -- he barely looked at Midorima with anything but affection and blinding devotion, after all.

Midorima not-so-privately thought Takao was full of crap most of the time. He said as much almost everyday. Takao learned to tune him out early on in their acquiantance, which was a skill the rest of their friends had yet to acquire.

"Is this what having a teenage son is like," said Takao, a hand to his heart.

"No," said Midorima.

Takao raised an eyebrow. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Midorima thought of Takao and his mess of clothes that invaded Midorima's closet space, his shoes perpetually disarrayed in the entrance. His tendency to listen to trashy pop songs at max volume every night. The way he'd never feed himself voluntarily if he couldn't get take out. "Sometimes I feel like your mother," Midorima confessed.

"Sorry," said Takao. "Your equipment's wrong for it. Also, I'm not that big a fan of incest, you know. _Your mother_ , on the other hand..."

"Please shut up," said Midorima, with great feeling.

Shin-chan scurried out of its hiding place and yipped excitedly as Midorima swatted Takao with an oven mitt in defense of his mother's honor. It took great pleasure in seeing fights break out in the household, particularly when Takao was getting the brunt of Midorima's wrath. _Psychotic_.

"Oh look," said Takao, his voice growing soppy and fond, "he's back!"

Takao scooped Shin-chan up and tucked the writhing mass of fur under his arm. Sometimes Midorima worried if Takao would live past forty, given his survival instincts. Really, he did.

 

 

 

 

 

Most days Midorima woke to an uncomfortable weight digging into his side courtesy of Takao's elbow. Sometimes, it was his foot. It always took Midorima more than a few seconds of staring at the ceiling and contemplating the farce that was his life before he shoved Takao's leg away from his ear and ambled over Takao's splayed limbs to seek safer ground.

On rare occasions, it was a pink belly that greeted him instead of paint.

"I'm not awake enough for this," said Midorima, plucking the dog by the scruff of its neck and dumping it on Takao's stomach. "Go bother Takao instead."

Takao answered with a grunt, and promptly rolled over to trap whatever part of his bedmates he could reach. The dog yelped, a glorious sound to Midorima's ears, and ducked out of Takao's hold in time to snap at his fingers. Midorima's knees could only hope to be so lucky.

"Augh," said Midorima, pushing Takao away. The edges of the dog's lips pulled back, as Takao slumped back to his side of the bed; it seemed to sneer disapprovingly at the body slumped in front of him.

"I understand the feeling perfectly," said Midorima, dryly. "Feel free to maul him any day."

The dog puffed its bottom up at him. It circled Takao's head and sat primly on his face.

"Are you sure you aren't a cat," said Midorima, scornfully.

The dog ignored him, as usual. It seemed to delight in little else but in causing mayhem for Takao and, by extension, Midorima's orderly life. Dethroned by an _animal_. How humiliating. Midorima shook his head and went to scavenge for leftovers in the fridge.

" _I can't breathe_ ," he heard Takao whimper a few minutes later. Midorima was rewarded with the glorious sound of Takao making pained noises as the dog stretched and covered the entirety of whatever part of Takao's face it could reach. It was a tiny dog, but Takao was fairly useless in the morning -- more than usual, that is.

"Thank you," said Midorima, to whatever god was listening. "Please feel free to let him suffocate."

"I HEARD THAT," Takao yelled.

Midorima threw a piece of sausage at the dog in thanks.

 

 

 

 

 

On weekends, friends and annoyances flocked around their couch and raided Takao's stash of chips and Midorima's stash of store bought wine. It was good for testing Midorima's patience; tempering Takao's bouts of stupidity, not so much.

Admittedly, the guest count began to dwindle ever since the dog conveniently forgot it was potty trained, much less socialized. Kagami never visited even before the dog, but at least now Midorima was guaranteed some semblance of peace in his kitchen and his bank account. When Takao began to brag about the dog after seven cans of beer (as if getting drunk was a legitimate excuse for it), the only ones that even bothered to show were their former senpai, and sometimes Kuroko and Momoi.

"You should show him off to a producer," Momoi gushed, ever the source of bad ideas. From its spot atop Kuroko's lap, the dog fussed at its paws and preened. "He's just too cute to not have his own show!"

And that was exactly the kind of encouragement that Midorima disapproved of. He tried to impress on Momoi the gravity of her words, but Momoi merely snapped a few more pictures with her phone and sent emails to all of her friends. Takao was overjoyed and requested for multiple copies.

For Takao, Shin-chan was the most talented and photogenic dog in the entirety of the prefecture – no, of _Tokyo_. If Midorima ever needed evidence that Takao may have been more delusional than the initial infatuation with Shin-chan was, then the constant auditions to dog shows and TV stints was pretty telling.

Like all things that began and ended with Shin-chan not giving a fuck, that was a bust, too.

"Maybe if you gave him more treats?" Kimura suggested.

"Screw that," said Miyaji, who championed Shin-chan ever since he found out the dog gave his kouhai _hell_ on a daily basis, "you should just leave him alone.

"We tried to do that with Cooking with Dog, remember," said Takao.

"Yes," said Midorima, pained.

"Damn Francis," said Takao, darkly. "That casting director doesn't know shit."

"You're so full of crap," said Miyaji. Privately, Midorima thought _Miyaji_ was the one who constantly spewed lies and deceit, especially in the presence of Takao. The last time Miyaji had convinced Takao that Shin-chan was retarded by virtue of Shin-chan's clear lack of struggle against a sheet draped over its body, Takao spent the entire week languishing about it and looking up more ways to disprove Miyaji's theory. He wasn't very successful at it either.

"You're more trouble than you're worth," said Midorima to the dog, waiting for it to emerge triumphant from under the blanket. "I hope you realize that."

It slept on.

 

 

 

 

 

Takao was under the permanent misconception that all Midorima and the dog needed to foster a good relationship was time. Together. In the same space. For hours.

"If it worked for you, it'll work for him," said Takao.

"Are you comparing me to a dog," said Midorima.

Takao tilted his head. "I guess that _would_ be cruel to Shin-chan…"

All Takao really needed was the smallest excuse to stick them together, like _oh, can you bring the trash out, and maybe take Shin-chan with you too_ and _I heard dogs were good for therapy, don't you want to--_ , all of which Midorima expressed complete distaste for via locking Takao out of their room. Midorima should have known that karma was kinder to Takao than it was to him. He had absolutely no luck at all.

"Have you read the newspaper," said Takao, the next morning, after picking the lock. "Have you, have you, have you?"

Midorima refused to open his eyes, despite the weight straddling his chest. "No, get out."

"Horoscope section," said Takao. "Want me to read your lucky item for you?"

"No," Midorima insisted. If he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep long enough, maybe Takao would get bored and bother the only other sentient being in the apartment. At best, he would go away forever.

"It's a dog," said Takao, putting his hands on Midorima's shoulders and shaking him awake. "You have to carry Shin-chan around today. This is gonna be hilarious."

"I'm not getting out of bed," said Midorima.

"You're totally taking Shin-chan for a walk," said Takao. "Otherwise you might end up drowning in a ditch or something. You have really bad luck today."

He sounded too happy about that prospect. _Pretend you're asleep_ , Midorima thought, biting down the retort that threatened to spill out of his mouth. _Just pretend you're asleep_.

Ten minutes and a piece of toast later, Midorima was cradling Shin-chan in his arm and holding the leash in the other. They made a perfectly agreeable pair, glowering at Takao in the doorway. Takao managed to fasten the leash to Shin-chan's collar without getting his fingers permanently detached from his hand. It saved a trip to the ER, at least.

"One sec," Takao hollered, scrambling back to the living room, "I need to take a picture!"

"I hope you accidentally get loose from your collar," Midorima informed the dog. It blinked at him, unimpressed.

Takao had it framed and hung in the hallway. Midorima vowed to take it down the next day.

 

 

 

 

 

Predictably, it stayed on the wall past New Year's. And the next. And the next.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I needed domestic Midotaka (WITH A DOG) in my life. Updates will be slow, intermittent, and perhaps non-existent, depending on my interest in continuing?


End file.
